


Doubled

by Sera_Clay



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:25:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 13,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sera_Clay/pseuds/Sera_Clay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzington, short chapters, angst, eventual M. Liz learns that Red is spending a great deal of time with a woman who looks exactly like her. Usual disclaimers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Woman

She sees the woman for the first time in the displays at the Post Office. She's elegantly dressed in a long green wool coat and a tiny hat, Raymond Reddington swaggering beside her, one hand resting possessively in the center of her lower back.

"Would you care to explain, Agent Keen?"

Harold Cooper sounds so disappointed.

Liz stares up, watching and yet trying not to truly see. To take this in.

Red has been off the grid for more than a week now.

The woman turns her head, smiling radiantly at Red. Her profile is so familiar.

Liz is staring at her own face.

"When was this taken?" she asks. Looking from one face to another. Samar leaning against a pillar, Aram controlling the displays with such a worried expression on his face.

"Last Saturday, in Vienna," puts in Ressler.

Liz shakes her head. "That's not me."

Cooper raises his eyebrows.

"I was here," Liz expostulates. "Right here. I cleaned my apartment and did my laundry, and my grocery shopping." She reaches for her purse. "I have my receipt!"

"Did anyone who knows you see you on Saturday?" asks Samar in a skeptical tone.

Liz looks around at the circle of expectant faces, then flushes.

"No, it was a pretty quiet day," she says. No need to point out that every free weekend she has is quiet. 

Liz misses her weekly calls with Sam. The casual friends at the dog park near her old house.

She even misses some of the friends she made with Tom. She just can't bear to see any of them anymore. They all think she drove Tom away.

"You didn't catch a movie? Eat out with friends?" Ressler persists.

Liz shakes her head again. She worked late on Friday, slept in on Saturday.

Sunday she took the train out of town and went hiking with a picnic lunch. Alone beneath the maples, surrounded by birdsong, something unwound for her. She admitted to herself how much she missed Red, their work together on the Blacklist.

And now this.

It's as if he's deliberately trying to make her furious.


	2. Jealousy?

"As flattering as your jealousy may be, Lizzie, I must point out to you that my choice of female companionship is most emphatically none of your concern."

Red smiles genially at her across her desk.

"Not yours, and certainly not that of the FBI." 

He tilts his head and gives her a small, self-satisfied laugh.

"In fact, I believe that's explicitly stated in my immunity package."

Liz scowls at him.

"Yes, right along with the thread count of your sheets."

"Why, Lizzie! To think you care." 

He's openly laughing at her now, but somehow it's not mocking at all, just a pleased sound. Red seems relaxed today, the circles beneath his eyes paler and less pronounced.

"You had dinner in Vienna with a woman who looks like me," she goes on. Cooper assigned her to have this conversation. Or she would not be talking about this subject with him at all. Liz knows exactly where this kind of talk will lead.

"Tell me about your social life, Lizzie," he responds, sitting back and crossing his legs. "Let's trade gossip, shall we?"

Liz shakes her head. She's not about to admit that she has no social life.

"Exactly like me," she persists. "Who is she? And what's going on?"

"Suffice it to say, I'm no longer a dull boy," he beams at her. 

He looks so smug, his eyes twinkling at her beneath the brim of his fedora, that she briefly fantasizes about heaving her stapler at his head. Her heavy, metal, government issue stapler.

"We're going to find out," she tells him. "And then we'll be having a different conversation."


	3. A Personal Fixation

Red and Dembe settle into a comfortable silence, sitting side by side on the metal bench by the Hudson River. Their contact has called and confirmed his acceptance of their price. Red watches as the water slides by endlessly, relaxing as some men do when they stare into a fire.

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" asks Dembe, finally.

"I don't think I can do that," Red responds. "A little jealousy won't do her any harm."

"I know how you would respond," predicts Dembe gloomily. "If the tables were turned."

"It's for the best," says Red softly, rubbing the side of his head as if it itches. "This particular enemy won't care about her if he believes I have a personal, rather than a professional, fixation."

No need to say more; Dembe knows exactly what it cost him to dine and dance with the woman who could have been Elizabeth Keen's twin. The worst of it was that more than dinner and dancing was clearly for sale.

Red is a wealthy man. But he dropped her at her door and spent half the night playing cards with Dembe.

He may not be that restrained, the next time. Or the next. 

Dembe has watched him reckless and coldly calculating, the master strategist and the fool. Red has a weakness for beautiful women. If she's truly a free agent, he may decide that a little dalliance is what his enemy would expect.

But Dembe has seen something new blooming in Elizabeth Keen's eyes. Something Red hasn't noticed, in his preoccupation with misleading his enemy.


	4. Hong Kong

"You can tell that's not me in Hong Kong, right?" says Liz sarcastically. It's recent footage of a black tie event. Raymond Reddington strolls up some steps and vanishes into the crowd, a woman in a long red gown glittering with sequins clinging to his arm.

Ressler stares up at the screen, shakes his head.

"What's his game?" he asks.

Samar shrugs, watching the feed as it pans over the crowd, then back to the next guests who arrive.

"This is a financial crowd, money movers, not society people."

She points at several faces.

"Suspected of money laundering, but at such a high level it's difficult to find anyone with sufficient expertise to unravel the accounts."

"So you think he's looking for a new investment manager?" asks Aram, glancing over at Liz, who is still staring at the screen where an image of Red and the woman in red is frozen.

"Aram, can you zoom in on her right hand?"

He advances the image a few frames, isolates the area. She's holding a small clutch, the catch gemmed with rubies.

There's a sharp intake of breath from around the room. 

"I was right here with you when that footage was shot!" Liz exclaims. "Two hours ago!"

Every eye is on her. She raises and uncurls her shaking hand. Stares at her palm. The woman on the screen has the very same scar.


	5. So Worth It

Red smiles a charming smile and once again avoids committing himself to an upcoming social event. These expensively dressed men and women are like sharks, circling as they wait for the smell of blood, or in this case, money.

The woman at his side smiles graciously but seldom speaks. Her English is still accented, although improving fast, and the few phrases he has drilled her on until she lacks an accent are mostly unsuited to this gathering.

She's expensive, but so worth it.

As yet another young man bows over her hand in greeting, Red follows the line of his eyes down the plunging neckline of her red gown. The small perfect swell of her breasts, her erect toned shoulders, bespeak long hours at the gym; she was plump when he hired her. 

His breath catches for a moment as he remembers her standing naked before him when he hired her, and again the previous month. Turning, posing for him without concern so he could inspect the merchandise.

He can't imagine Liz standing shameless before him in this way; his mind skitters away from the thought, back to the woman at his side.

Wanting what he can't have is the first step towards self-destruction; picturing himself as anything but his self-created identity, impervious and deadly, the beginning of a descent into madness.

This mercenary woman, who allows her hand to be scarred, submits to the delicate plastic surgery that turns her face from a close cousin to near identical; Red could have her, if he so desires.

Only he doesn't, not at all. Not yet. But he very much fears, as her accent and mannerisms improve, that he will.


	6. Dembe

"I know her name is Mattie, Dembe," responds Red in annoyance, sloshing another drink into his already half-filled glass. "Your point?"

Dembe pulls his glass back as Red gestures towards him with the bottle.

"She's not Elizabeth," Dembe repeats.

Red gives a tired little shake of his head, closes his eyes for a long moment before he takes another drink.

"And she never will be. Just a fake woman, for a fake man."

"Red ..." Dembe's voice is almost a growl. He hates self-pity, above all else.

"I'm sorry," Red says, swallowing the last of his drink and setting down his glass. "This has been a truly wretched day."

"Keeping her safe does not serve you, if you go on in this way." Dembe is relentless.

Red rubs the side of his head, scratching at the shorn fuzz of his very short hair.

"It's too late to tell her," he responds. "She's not jealous. Just disgusted."

Dembe shakes his head, tossing back the remainder of his own drink as well.

"No, Raymond, not jealous," he confirms. "But not disgusted, either."

Red meets Dembe's eyes. "She's not much older than you are."

Dembe shrugs. "I'm already grown. It's not as if she'll need to help you raise me." His dark eyes dance with amusement as Red's jaw drops open, just a little. "If I were a woman, I too would be interested in you, Raymond."

Dembe laughs as Red rolls his eyes in feigned shock and disbelief.

"Talk to her," Dembe advises, before leaving the room. "And don't wait much longer."


	7. Harold Cooper

"Agent Keen."

Harold Cooper looks better than he has in months, his energy returning with the ongoing success of the clinical trial. Liz seats herself opposite him in his office, ignoring the piles of work on his desk, and smiles.

"Yes, sir?"

He stares at her for a long moment, then sighs.

"This can't go on. If Reddington has some plan that involves you, and he clearly does, it could put the entire task force at risk."

He takes a deep breath.

"That's why I'm suspending operations indefinitely. Until you can get some answers out of him."

"But, sir..." Liz begins to protest, The next blacklister specializes in the sabotage of private planes. Red has claimed he's behind some of the most famous and deadly crashes of the last fifteen years.

"Talk to him," Harold Cooper advises her sternly, raising one hand when she tries to interrupt.

Liz slumps back in her chair.

"Yes, sir," she responds glumly. She's been trying to avoid Red. She's not jealous; she just feels abandoned. As if just when she was coming to believe she was truly special, she's discovered that she's not.

There's an odd little knot of pain in her chest when Liz thinks about Red and that woman traveling together, attending lavish parties, dancing so close. Liz has seen too many photos in which she appears to be held tight in Red's arms, but in reality she's never pressed her body to his, tipped her head back and laughed into his eyes as if inviting his kisses.

They're probably lovers. Liz should feel disgusted, but instead, she just feels so sad.


	8. The Restaurant

Two weeks later, Liz follows Ressler into the restaurant, then surrenders her overcoat at the coat check before they wind their way through the maze of curtained booths.

"Elizabeth, this is Donald and his friend Lizzie."

The woman leans forward and puts out her hand as Red rise to introduce them. 

Liz takes her hand and holds it, staring at her own face. The woman is regarding her with equal interest and curiosity.

"How many of us are there?" she asks. Liz almost forgets to answer. Does she really sound like that?

Liz shrugs.

"I don't know."

Evidently Red hasn't told this woman that she's the real Elizabeth Keen. Could there possibly be more than just the two of them?

Liz allows Ressler to slide into the booth first, which places her opposite Red. He waits for her to seat herself before sitting back down and turning to the hovering wine steward.

"More champagne."

Ressler raises one finger.

"Just coffee for me."

The wine steward gives Red a look. Red sighs.

"Bring him some coffee."

Ressler looks over at Liz, but she avoids his eyes, staring across the table at her double once again. She could really use a glass of champagne right now.

"Here you go, ladies."

Red has poured for them, offering her and the smiling woman their glasses together, one in each hand, before taking up his own flute and sipping appreciatively.

"To new friends," Red toasts, as the women merely tilt their glasses toward one another, not allowing them to touch. Liz blinks at that, her mind working furiously. Red has no friends. Is this some subtle warning?

Ressler is looking from one of them to the other, obviously trying and failing to find some distinguishing feature between them.

Liz is wearing a new suit and a dark red blouse. She felt well dressed until she saw her double. Also dressed in a suit, but with far more expensive jewelry and a diamond-encrusted watch that probably cost more than her car.

Her double's suit was clearly tailored for her, as Red's suits are; the shoulders and lapels lie perfectly, the drape of the fabric betraying its quality. Her blouse is blue silk, exactly matched to her, their, eyes.

"You think we could be friends?" the woman slants her eyes at Red, speaking in a slightly suspicious tone.

Ressler blinks at her. 

"Of course, my dear," responds Red genially. "Feel free to get to know each other."

Liz shoots him a suspicious look, gritting her teeth as she notices that the other woman is giving him exactly the same sort of glance.

"I need the powder room," Liz announces, setting down her empty champagne flute and rising abruptly. "Are you coming?"

Red rises to let her out of the booth as the other woman assents. He doesn't look worried, precisely, as they leave the table, but he doesn't look happy, either.


	9. Alone

Once they're alone in the small, dark-paneled space, otherwise unoccupied, both Liz and her double drop their smiles.

"What should I call you?" Liz asks.

The woman shrugs.

"My real name is Mattie. Don't tell him I told you so."

Liz nods. Establishing trust. A small test. Exactly what she herself would do.

"Do you prefer Elizabeth, Liz, or Lizzie?" asks the woman in turn. She's standing just as Liz does when she's nervous, shoulders back, legs a little apart as if braced for action. 

Liz can't help but smile again at that. 

"Usually, I prefer Agent Keen," she responds, tilting her head and thinking for a moment. "Why don't we start with Lizzie? He'll hate that."

They grin at each other in perfect understanding. 

"So, have you ever met any other doubles?" Mattie asks her.

So she knows Liz is the original. That changes things.

Liz shakes her head. "No. If you'll tell me where you've been in the last two months, I can let you know if I've seen him with someone else."

Mattie starts listing major cities around the world, her head tilted forward slightly, eyes unfocused, just as Liz does when she's recalling past events. A part of her profiler's brain is busily adding up the details as she listens and ticks off the images from the Post Office; this is no mere whim of Red's, this woman must have been preparing to impersonate her for months.

At the end of the list she shakes her head again.

"No, that's every place I've seen him in public with us."

Liz flushes. Us. That sounds so odd. But her other choices are equally inadequate.

Mattie gives her a sympathetic look.

"I know; it's strange, isn't it?"

Liz decides to at least try.

"Do you know why he hired you?"

To her surprise, Mattie just shrugs, then walks over to the row of pedestal sinks and begins touching up her lipstick. Their eyes meet in the mirror.

"I assume I'm a decoy. To protect you in some dangerous situation. I'm being paid based on accepting the risk of torture or death." Mattie shrugs as she tucks the gold tube holding her lipstick back into her designer clutch. "You get paid to take those risks too, just not as well as I do."

"The FBI is a career ..." Liz begins, her voice faltering as the woman gives her a level stare. The one Liz uses on criminals when she can tell they're lying, to get them to crack.

"You're fascinated by the criminal mind," returns Mattie, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and then examining herself in the mirror with satisfaction. Liz has her hair up in a simple bun, but Mattie's french braid is elaborately woven at the back of her head.

Time to end this.

"We need to get back out there," Liz says. "But I'd like to talk with you some more. Is there any way to meet - privately?"

Mattie gives her an assessing look.

"I'm not allowed to leave the apartment without him. But I can give you the address. You just have to promise me one thing."

"What?" asks Liz, her hand already on the handle of the door, preparing to leave.

"Help me get better at playing you. I can't make any mistakes." She gives a little shudder. "I'm afraid of what he'll do if let him down."

"You're afraid of him?" Liz asks with a frown.

Mattie's blue eyes go wide. 

"He's Raymond Reddington," she exclaims in honest bewilderment. "Isn't everyone?"


	10. Summer Clothing

Red enters the apartment with his key, wrinkling his nose at the smell of Chinese takeout. Mattie seems to have become unusually dedicated to watching the edited videos which Red has provided to her, the ones that show Elizabeth Keen with her former husband Tom.

Her mannerisms are improving, and she's starting to drop just a hint of a Nebraska accent into certain phrases.

"Mr. Reddington?"

Red frowns as the woman who looks like Liz appears from her bedroom in a short terry cloth robe.

"Call me Red. And why aren't you dressed?" 

He shakes his head in disapproval at her, the impact of her slim, bare legs emerging from the robe somehow more unnerving than the sight of them in an evening dress. Perhaps it's the smell of her lotion; her smooth skin glistens as if she's been moisturizing.

Liz went to the beach last weekend, so Mattie has been tanning.

"I'm trying on the summer clothing you ordered," she responds, stopping in the doorway with a nervous expression more suitable to Liz when she's close to Red than halfway across the room.

It's well done, though - a smile, a hint of a quiver in her jaw, a glance at his lips and then her eyes sliding sideways, away.

Red shrugs out of his suit jacket, then tosses it and his hat onto the couch.

"Anything you'd like to show me?" he asks her with a lift of his brows. Her nervousness intensifies. She pulls the robe a little tighter at her throat.

Liz might refuse, or flounce away. Mattie just stands in the doorway, as if blocking him from entering. 

Red strolls towards her, pleased when she takes a single step closer to him, her expression firming. Liz doesn't back down from confrontations.

"Just my tan," she says in an off-hand tone, opening the robe to give him a glimpse of her red lace bra and panties. "Am I dark enough yet?"

The tilt of her head is right for Liz, even the challenge in her limpid blue gaze.

But Liz has more body modesty than this woman has probably ever had.

"Slow down," he advises her. "She's not going to be back at the beach for quite a while."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I have another blacklister for her to chase. One that will keep her in the mountains for a good two weeks."

Red strolls around Mattie, takes another sniff of the lotion.

"Have you been keeping all your appointments at the gym downstairs?"

He's hired a personal trainer to come daily. Liz has lost weight again recently.

Mattie pouts, but nods. 

Red raises one finger.

"No pouting."

Two fingers.

"No sulking."

He gives her an inquiring glare. Raises a third finger.

"No whining," she says with a little sigh. Filled with exasperation, accompanied by a little shake of her dark head. Liz done perfectly.

For one second Red longs to give her another instruction - show me how Lizzie would kiss me - then his stomach turns at the thought of all those hours of video showing her kissing Tom. More than kissing. And this woman isn't really his Lizzie. But it's getting harder and harder to remember that as she perfects her voice and her walk.

She lids her eyes as if she's following his thoughts.

"Will there be anything else, Red?" she asks him in a sultry voice. A voice that surely came from those tapes.

Red shakes his head and steps back, his mouth twisting in distaste.

"We're leaving for Spain in two days," he tells her, collecting his hat and coat once again. "Finish your packing by noon."


	11. Does He?

As the door swings shut behind Red, Liz emerges wide-eyed from the bedroom.

"Oh my god, I can't believe that," she laughs, meeting Mattie's worried eyes and giggling. "He treats you like a child."

Mattie raises one eyebrow.

"You didn't see how he was looking at me," she responds, deliberately flashing Liz one of her own level stares.

"At me." 

Liz hears the edge to her voice too late. Mattie lets out a brief huff of laughter, deep and knowing, her own real laugh. 

"You want him," she says. No doubt at all in her voice.

"And you?"

Mattie makes a face, then sticks out her tongue.

"He's paying me enough that it doesn't matter what I want," she responds in a dry tone.

Liz swallows hard. She knows she's handing this woman too much power, but she has to know.

"Has he? Does he?"

Their eyes meet, their faces assuming identical wary expressions as they both square their shoulders.

"Not yet," says Mattie at last.

Liz gives her a beseeching look.

Mattie shrugs.

"No promises," she says in a matter of fact tone. "He hasn't even kissed me yet, but we sometimes sleep in the same bed on these trips."

Liz stares at her double as the worst idea in the world flashes through her mind.

She can see Mattie almost reading her thoughts and beginning to shake her head in dismay even as Liz opens her mouth.

"So? Do you like the mountains?"


	12. Run, Don't Walk

In the end, Liz reluctantly agrees that Red would see through any extended attempt at impersonating Mattie.

"I've been working at this for months," her double insists. "You could manage it for one evening, or at night, perhaps. But not in daylight. Not for days at a time. Not when he constantly quizzes you on what he expects you to know."

Liz shivers. 

"Does he expect you to be captured and interrogated, then?" she asks.

Mattie shrugs her shoulders, then slips out of the robe.

"Walk in that summer frock for me again, please?" she asks Liz, motioning to the bright, flower-printed dresses strewn across the bed in shocking disregard for their designer price tags.

Liz dresses in one and Mattie in the other. Slip their feet into almost identical high, strappy heels in white and bone.

Mattie makes a face.

"Just try it on with one of my new bras," she insists. "The lines look all wrong."

Liz makes a face back, the same exact face, but pulls open the top drawer and selects a similar lace bra and panties in deep indigo. She cuts off the tags and strips out of the dress and her simple cotton underthings, puts on the lingerie, and examines herself in the mirror over the long, low make-up table.

"I'll be right out." Mattie is in the bathroom, the door closed.

Liz turns on her high white heels, admiring the fit, the way the stretchy dark lace clings to her so tightly.

Mattie emerges from the bathroom and stops short.

"Oh, much better," she exclaims, pulling the flowered dress over her head and tossing it inside out on the bed.

Liz blushes as Mattie comes to stand next to her, posing beside her in the mirror. Twins in their lingerie and heels.

"No, do that again," Mattie insists. "Just like that."

Liz frowns, meets her double's eyes in the mirror.

"You're not going to let him see you like that, are you?" she asks.

Mattie stares for a second, visibly taken aback.

"Why would I care? It's not as if he's never seen me naked before ..." She raises her palms, laughing, as Liz glares into the mirror. "You can't possibly think he wants me?" 

Her gaze is so mocking, but Liz can't help but see her own smile, the derisive twist of her own lips. 

Oh, that hurts. 

Liz wants Red to want her. Not Mattie, not any other woman in the world. She's managed not to admit it to herself until now.

Mattie lays one hand on her bare shoulder, her face troubled. 

"Run away from him, don't walk," she advises Liz, an unfamiliar accent appearing in her voice. "I'm going to be a plump, Spanish-speaking blonde as soon as this job is done. As far from Reddington as I can get."

Her voice is sincere.

Then she gives a little toss of her dark head, and she's an all but perfect version of Liz once more, her blue eyes sparkling with humor as if that moment had never occurred.

"Now, let's try on those dresses again. I want to watch you sit and stand for at least the next hour."


	13. Spain

The trip to Spain was worth it. 

Not only did he eat some spectacular meals, Red is sure that at least two of their hotel rooms were searched, as if someone was confirming that he and his female companion shared a room.

Gliding smoothly toward the Post Office in his Mercedes, Dembe at the wheel, Red shivers inwardly at the memory of those nights.

Her perfect body as she dressed and undressed in front of him, the lilt in her voice as they conversed over dinner. The intimacy of her wide blue gaze, so affectionate, and later, after drinks, a little inviting. Her eyes following his lips.

Then back to the room, where she showered and dressed in the elaborate lingerie he purchased before rolling as far to her side of the bed as possible, and falling asleep without saying good-night.

She no longer flirts with him in private. At all.

Red can't decide if Mattie just gave up on the effort, or if there's some other reason.

Something about him that on the closer inspection afforded by their recent travels is too unattractive or unappealing.

He's become more careful and modest in response, dressing out of her sight, avoiding casual touches when not in public.

Red aches for some resolution, but he needs to be sure. A few more weeks, at least.

Dembe holds the door for him, then follows him into the elevator.

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" he says. His tone disapproving.

"We'll discuss this later," Red returned, in the tone he and Dembe both know means 'never', and pastes a bright smile on his face before stepping out of the elevator.

"Lizzie! Just the agent I'm looking for!"

She and Ressler are standing nearby, having some sort of disagreement. Ressler has his phone out.

"It's lunch time, Red."

Her tone is annoyed, but she smiled when she first saw him. Or perhaps she just likes his new hat?

"I'll bring us take-out," Ressler offers, looking at Liz.

"Splendid! You know what I like, and Dembe will eat almost anything."

Red laughs at the disgruntled look on the redhead's face before reaching for Liz's arm to gently steer her towards her office.

"New suit?"

Liz pulls free of his hold and takes a step back. Red is wearing a new, cream-colored suit. He hadn't expected her to notice, however. 

"I like it," she goes on. "Very dashing."

"Yes, it's new," Red responds, unable for once to think up another thing to say. 

That appreciative rake of her eyes down his body. So exactly the way Mattie greeted him in his tux, before they went out dancing two nights ago in Madrid.

Liz ushers him into her office, gives Dembe a little wave as he sets off for his usual destination at the Post Office, the basement gym. Dembe will work out and shower before he eats. 

"So, Red, what do you have on our blacklister?" she asks him, seating herself behind her desk and stacking the papers spread out in front of her neatly back into the appropriate file folders as she speaks.

So matter of fact, her expectant gaze, a small smile of encouragement flitting across her lips as he hesitates.

"You do have something new?"

"Yes," he tells her, setting his hat on her desk and pulling out a data stick. "More photos - you might want to wait until after lunch to look at them."

Liz hasn't asked him anything more about Mattie since their meeting at the restaurant. No little jokes or jibes from anyone else at the FBI, either.

Red sets that thought in the back of his mind to puzzle over later, and focuses on Liz. He'll tell her some jokes, have her laughing by the time Ressler returns with their lunch. Red loves her laugh. And it's one of the few things Mattie hasn't managed to get right, yet.


	14. Why?

"Did he tell you why?"

Liz and Mattie sit cross-legged on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them.

Security footage from the Post Office loops endlessly on the TV screen in front of them, Mattie occasionally lifting the remote to pause and rewind.

"There, see? The way you touched your hair."

Liz watches herself glance sideways at Red, then lean down to speak to Aram, tucking a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear.

"That little stroke you gave the back of your head."

Gesturing a bit dramatically, Red motions at the screens above them, then tilts his head and smiles. Mattie pauses the footage, cutting off his story mid-sentence.

"OK, I'll do it for you again, but then you have to tell me why," Liz capitulates. She stands, moves, touches her hair. Mattie copies her from her seat on the couch, then eats a few more pieces of popcorn, chewing just as Liz does, a little carefully, so as not to crack a tooth the way she did as a child.

"He said this will be a much longer trip, and I won't need the apartment after that."

"More nights in the same bed?"

Liz has to ask. She's been finding it difficult to meet Red's gaze recently, has been trying to find reasons to appear angry or annoyed. The tension between them is rising, his habitual smiles turning weary or bitter the more Liz snaps at him.

Mattie shakes her head.

"You aren't ready," she advises Liz, uncrossing her legs and rising to her feet. They are both wearing black leggings under dark purple leotards, their bare feet close to identical with the glossy bright purple nail polish Mattie insisted they apply.

Doing yoga with Mattie is like moving from pose to pose in front of a mirror, except for the slight delay. The trip will include nights spent at exclusive spas around the globe, and Mattie wants to be prepared.

Liz sighs.

"You can't just wait until he's done with me?" Mattie asks. Sounding like the voice of reason, the voice of sense in her head.

Of course she could wait. The idea that she could imitate Mattie well enough to fool Raymond Reddington is sheer foolishness.

But oh, she wants to try.


	15. Dinner Plans

"No, I don't need you to follow me up." 

Red is seldom exasperated with Dembe, but his concern about Mattie is beginning to grate. Pulling his hat down over his eyes, Red eschews the elevator for the stairwell, leaving Dembe to watch the car, an unhappy frown creasing his forehead.

He forgot to remind her about the charity party later tonight, and while Red admits that her habit of allowing his calls to roll to voice mail is characteristic of Liz as of late, it does make surprise visits like this necessary.

Whatever happens with Mattie once they reach the first spa, that will be none of Dembe's business. He's not invited on this particular trip. At least not openly.

He will however be watching from the shadows, eavesdropping with a team of professionals, to see if Red's enemy is finally satisfied.

If this charade can finally come to an end.

The alternative, abandoning the remainder of the blacklist and breaking off all contact with Liz for her own protection, is unthinkable.

Even though she's so angry, so closed off and unhappy these days, that seeing her is less a pleasure than a torment.

Irritated by the bleak turn of his own thoughts, Red shoves his key in the lock and pushes his way into the apartment without bothering to knock or ring.

Mattie looks up from the couch, the startled expression on her face absolutely perfect.

"Mr. Reddington?"

She's wearing a purple yoga outfit and black tights, her toenails painted but her fingernails bare. She can't wear that polish color tonight, he wants her in green.

"I told you to call me Red," he informs her coldly. "We have dinner plans for tonight. Is the dress you wore in Barcelona back from the cleaners yet?"

She shrugs with calculated indifference. Liz, but without the anger. Pathetic that he's actually enjoying this.

"I'll go check." She rises sinuously, walks around the far end of the couch towards her bedroom. Staying as far from him as possible in the small living room. "Be right back."

Red tosses his hat on the couch next to a large, almost empty bowl of popcorn and scowls down at it. She doesn't look like she's gaining weight, but if he has to hire that personal trainer again he'll threaten to take it out of her pay.

Two yoga mats lie side by side on the carpet. She must be stretching. He's warned her she'll need to take a variety of exercise classes at the spas, just as Liz would.

The TV is off, the remote sitting beside the bowl. Red wonders what she's been watching. Maybe he should check, although he can't really criticize her TV viewing since he doesn't know what shows, if any, Liz is watching right now. They never seem to talk about anything but work anymore.

Red reaches down for the remote.


	16. With Red

Liz emerges from the bedroom, carrying the green dress encased in dry cleaner plastic that Mattie frantically indicated. She was in the bathroom, redoing the chipped polish on her left big toe, when the front door opened, unable to step back into place.

"Do you have any preference about my jewelry? Anything new?"

Liz meets and holds his eyes with the attention to detail and close control of her body language she'd give a criminal being interrogated. Mattie was visibly terrified as she retreated into the shower stall.

Red purses his lips and tilts his head. Sets the remote back down.

"Turn for me," he says, still in that cold voice. Thank goodness Mattie has described this particular test.

Liz has a way of doing a brief spin on one heel, the remnant of a dance class she took in Baltimore.

After draping the dress over the back of the couch, she executes the move easily, then bats her eyes at Red, catches his lips tightening as if in pain.

"Again."

"Again."

"Once more."

Reminding herself that Mattie has been hired as a puppet, Liz obeys Red's instructions, trying to ignore him walking slowly closer as he watches. Her leotard is skin tight and low cut, the spaghetti straps more for decoration than support.

"Stop."

He's so close she can smell the scotch on his breath, the deeper notes of his cologne.

Liz raises her eyebrows.

"What time do we need to leave?"

Red is staring into her eyes now, and Liz imagines the room darkening, allows her pupils to widen slightly, then bites at her lower lip. His nostrils flare, and she's thankful she hasn't eaten anything but coffee and popcorn yet today. She doesn't know what Mattie usually eats.

He pauses, their faces so close together that Liz suddenly wonders if he's going to kiss her. 

"We leave when I'm ready to leave," Red tells her, and she drops her eyes, feeling an odd little jolt of fear. He's never spoken to her in quite that tone before.

"My nails, my hair?" Liz begins. Allowing the fear to enter her voice, driving out any possible note of desire.

His mouth twitches, then he gives a curt little nod of satisfaction.

"I'll send you someone from Elizabeth Arden. Be ready at seven, not later than nine," he informs her. "And for god's sake don't eat anything more today."

Red turns and reaches for his hat, sets it swiftly on his head with a little flick of his wrist she's never seen before.

"If I'm going to pay $2,000 a plate for chicken the size of squab, you'd better be willing to eat."

He pulls the door open, sweeps out with long strides, then closes it almost silently behind him.

Liz rushes at once to bolt the door.

"Oh, I cannot believe you pulled that off!" Mattie rushes from the bedroom and pulls Liz into a brief hug. Liz stiffens, then hugs her back.

"So, do you think I should go to the party tonight?" she asks, laughing as Mattie gives a little gasp of horror, her expression that of Liz frozen in shock, done to perfection.


	17. The Park

Red refuses to look at Dembe as he enters the back seat, then gestures in the air.

"Drive around the park, please," he says, pretending to consult the lavishly printed invitation for the evening's entertainment.

He almost kissed her. Mattie gave him that wide-eyed look, her blue eyes glowing, for a moment not frightened of him at all. The way Liz challenges him, laughs at and with him. Or at least, the way she used to.

Liz has been different since she met Mattie. Red has to admit that to himself.

And Mattie seems more and more appealing, her voice and mannerisms drawn primarily from video footage of better times, when Liz trusted him.

Surely, she can't believe he's fallen for the false charms of her impostor? 

Red needs to make a decision about Mattie before he leaves on this trip. More than a month spent apart from Liz, but at the end of it, he's quite sure his enemy will be satisfied. He'll either make an attempt on her life, or abandon his interest in Liz altogether. Then Red can pay Mattie what he owes and come back.

But back to what?

The big car circles smoothly, the green of the park outside his tinted windows, the tall trees and the mature flowering shrubs passing unheeded.

Would it be so wrong to allow himself a month to pretend Liz loves and wants him? To finally taste the delights of that beautiful body he parades about on his arm so possessively?

Red knows that answer, and he also knows exactly what Dembe would say.

He's pretty sure Mattie is still willing, although he can't be certain. There's a new reserve creeping into her manner, one he can't help but attribute to some distaste for his person. He's old enough to be her father, and she's seen enough of his body, his scars, to have formed some judgment apart from his elegant appearance in suits.

But today she responded to him with a perfect imitation of the Lizzie he first knew, the one he sometimes feels he imagined in the face on her ongoing annoyance and rejection.

And it was wonderful.

If she looks at him like that again tonight, he's going to kiss her. Close his eyes and kiss her, and pretend he's kissing Liz. And hope he can live with himself afterward.


	18. An Argument

It's the first real argument they've ever had, as if that brief hug opened some new connection between them. 

"You're making a mistake," Mattie tells her plainly. "There's nothing men hate worse than being made to look or feel foolish."

"He's not going to find out," Liz returns, tossing her head as she strides about the room, following Mattie as she rolls up their yoga mats and ejects the recording of the security tape Liz brought with her.

"If he does, I'm the one who will suffer for it," returns Mattie angrily. "Have you considered that, Agent Keen?"

Liz pauses mid-stride and plants her hands on her hips.

"Don't you take that tone with me," she spits out. "You got yourself into this, inviting me here."

Mattie glares back at her, then mirrors her gesture exactly.

"I asked you for help, not to get me killed."

Liz can't help but notice how brightly her eyes shine when she's furious. Does she really look like that, her face tightening beyond mere prettiness to a dangerous type of beauty?

Mattie gives an exasperated laugh, her anger sliding away.

"Look at you, you're still trying to handle how I look." Her voice gentles. "How are you going to handle Raymond Reddington if he flirts with you? If he finally decides to sample what he's more than paid for?"

Liz feels her heart rate increase as she struggles to come up with a response.


	19. Getting Ready

Liz calls Cooper as she wait for the nail tech to arrive. The hairdresser has finished pinning her hair up in an elaborate swirl of back-brushed curls, punctuated by more hairspray that Liz normally uses in a month, and is washing her hands in the bathroom.

Mattie has already left the apartment, wearing a long blond wig and a slouchy gray sweatsuit, and carrying a small overnight bag. She's going to the mall and then to the movies, she informs Liz rather gleefully, and then she'll stay overnight at a hotel. So Liz shouldn't expect her back at the apartment until noon.

"Are you certain this is wise, Agent Keen?" Cooper sounds concerned.

"No, but I haven't been able to learn Red's true purpose in hiring the impostor through surveillance," Liz responds. "Bribing her to allow me to take her place seems to be worth a try. And we'll be at a public event tonight."

She's not going to tell Cooper that she's been spending so much time with Mattie. She hasn't told anyone at all.

"Do you want back-up?" he asks, his tone doubtful, as if he already knows the answer.

"No, that could tip him off," she returns decidedly. The doorbell rings.

"I've got to go. I'll report back tomorrow afternoon - these events can run late," she tells him. Hangs up with a sigh of relief. 

Even Mattie only knows that she's attracted to Red. Liz never wants anyone to realize the depth of her current obsession, exacerbated by the constant images of Red dancing with her, dining with her, sightseeing in such varied, exotic locales, in countries Liz has never even visited.

The hairdresser hurries to the door and leads the nail tech over to where Liz is sitting on one of Mattie's kitchen chairs. He gives her a nod as he sets down his plastic case of tools.

"French tips?" he confirms, giving her purple toenails a brief glance of disgust.

"Sure." Whatever Red ordered, that's what he needs to get.


	20. An Evening Together

It is past eight when Red arrives, knocking at the door of the apartment just as if he were a real date arriving to escort Mattie to the dinner.

She opens it at once, an evening wrap draped over her shoulders, her gemmed clutch in one hand and her house keys in the other. Her familiar perfume wafts over him.

Red sweeps his gaze over her, nails, hair, jewelry, all as they should be, then frowns at her make-up. A little heavy for his taste, but not uncharacteristic of Liz.

"Yes?"

She turns in a circle before him, then raises one brow.

"Will I do, Red?" That note of laughter in her voice. He thought she'd never manage to get it right.

"You are positively ravishing, my dear," he confirms, offering his arm. 

Her dark hair is piled high on her head, emphasizing her delicate bone structure and the brilliance of her blue eyes, and the formal elegance of her deep green strapless dress is a perfect contrast for his tux.

Their evening together passes so swiftly, proceeding as smoothly as a dream.

The multi-course meal, for once not overcooked, accompanied by tolerable wines.

Dancing every dance he requests from her, no complaints about tight shoes, or high heels, or how closely he holds her. Not even one.

The way her eyes linger on him, her body language so constantly inviting that Red can recognize jealousy in the eyes of several men, watches women retreat in good order as if a warning was received and heeded.

And she laughs at all his stories, even the ones she's heard before.

By the time Red sees her back to her door, he's made up his mind. Just one kiss good-night, just a taste of what she appeared to have been promising him all evening.

"Lizzie."

He takes her arm as she starts to unlock the door. She looks over at him, their faces level due to her heels.

Red slits his eyes at her, leans in to capture her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Intending to make this opportunity count.

He expected some degree of participation, however grudging, but not the way her body turns, her slim arms wrapping him tight, the sound of her voice.

"Oh yes, Red, yes."

She all but plasters herself against him with that curious awkwardness Liz often displays, kissing him back so eagerly.

More than just one kiss. So much more. Such a perfect imitation of passion he finds himself responding, painfully aroused by what he knows he can't, he shouldn't want.

"Come on inside."

She grabs a handful of his shirt, tugging as she unlocks the door with her other hand.

"Come on, Red."

He allows her to tow him inside, into the darkness of her living room, her mouth fastening onto his once more, the door slamming shut behind him as she starts maneuvering him towards her bedroom, shedding her wrap, clutch, and shoes as she proceeds.


	21. Do You Want This?

Red takes in the room with just a glance, his eyes almost closed, savoring her kisses.

Mattie's bed is made-up with fresh sheets, blankets folded at the foot. The room glows with soft light from the small lamps on the bedside tables. 

Tugging at his clothing, she moves him backwards towards the bed, guiding him with the pressure of her body as if engaged in some curious dance, more kisses between every step.

As the backs of his legs make contact with the edge of the bed, Red takes her face between his hands and draws his mouth back, ignoring her hands moving on his body.

"Do you want this?" he whispers harshly. "Do you?"

In answer, she nods rapidly, then presses their mouths together again. Red lets himself fall backwards onto the bed, pulling her with him, then rolling atop her to pin her beneath the weight of his body.

Red kisses and kisses her, not relenting until he can taste her mouth loosening beneath his, sweet and full with desire like the taste of ripe fruit.

Then he pauses, draws her to stand, and removes her clothing, then the remainder of his own, her blue eyes going so wide as she submits to his touch. As he reveals his arousal, then trembles beneath her desire-filled gaze.

Their clothing lies crumpled in mingled piles on the floor as he folds down the sheets almost ceremoniously, waits for her to lie down with her head on the far pillow before joining her in bed.

Red pulls her close, the feel of bare skin against his own for the first time in so long almost overwhelming. She kisses him deeply, then lowers her mouth to his chest, licking and then biting gently at him, circling close to his nipples until he arches his back and begs without words for the wetness of her mouth, the sting of her teeth so perfectly close to pain, again and again.

He's almost over the edge before he stops her, rolling her onto her back and returning the favor for long minutes, using his hands as well when he presses kisses to her lips and face, then moves his mouth lower once more. She's making small whining noises now, sounds he's never heard from her before. Sounds Liz never made on those videos.

Her hands on his body slide lower as he moves between her thighs, kisses her lips before gazing down at her flushed face, her eyes closed, lipstick smeared, her mouth wide as she breathes heavily, waiting for more kisses.

"Red, oh Red," she breathes out, spreading her legs wider. He pauses, almost shaking with the effort not to bury himself inside her.

There's something, something about her mouth. Red strokes her soft cheek, covers her mouth with his own for a long kiss that leaves him almost breathless, then looks again.

That crown. The one he's never been quite satisfied with, despite sending a protesting Mattie back to the dentist twice to have it recast. 

Her teeth are perfect.

The naked woman splayed beneath him, her hands exploring his body with such apparent eagerness, is Elizabeth Keen.


	22. An Old Enemy

Liz knows the moment everything changes.

She freezes beneath him, then opens her eyes.

"What?" she asks him, trying not to flinch against the brief pinch of horror before his expressive face goes blank and still.

"Elizabeth." Just an acknowledgment. "Where is Mattie?"

Oh shit. Oh no. 

"She's fine. I ... I begged her to let me come with you tonight."

Red heaves himself up and off her, sits beside her at the head of the bed and drags the sheet up over his lap.

Liz raises up on her elbows, then rolls up to sit cross-legged facing Red. Not covering herself at all.

If there's any advantage, any distraction in her vulnerability, she'll take it gladly.

They stare at each other for a few moments, just breathing. 

"Why?"

His cold eyes search her face, a wintery green that's almost gray.

"I needed, I need, to know why you employed her, Red." She's trembling with reaction, and her voice shakes. So close. They came so close. 

He shakes his head, looking so weary for a moment.

"No, Lizzie, you don't need to know. You want to know."

"So does Cooper," she returns at once, stilling her hands with an effort. She rarely needs to touch her scar any more. "She could infiltrate the FBI."

Red gives her another shake of his head, followed by a grim smile.

"If you've spoken with her at any length, you know she wouldn't last an hour around your colleagues."

Liz takes a deep, deep breath. "Just tell me, Red."

His eyes flicker to her breasts at the movement of her chest, then back to her face. His mouth twists for a moment.

"An old enemy of mine has only been imprisoned once. He was caught due to the perspicacity of a profiler. A most unfortunate man, who disappeared shortly after my enemy was released from federal prison."

Red pauses, licks his lips. The lips she was just kissing, still slightly swollen.

"I decided that the only way to keep you safe is to ensure that this enemy believes I am personally obsessed with you. Not seeking your services as a profiler."

Another pause. His jaw sets, then releases.

"Also, I planned to keep Mattie on retainer. For any further possible ... use."

Liz flushes, continues to hold his eyes with an effort of will.

"Why didn't you just kill this enemy?"

Red gives her a sardonic grin.

"You have no idea how it pains me to hear an agent of our government suggest that," he begins, somewhat pompously, breaking off as she raises her eyebrows and frowns at him, then reaches for the sheet, taking a handful and pulling it up over one thigh.

"He has powerful friends, Lizzie. This is not the right time for me to make any new enemies."

Liz stares at him, trying to figure out why he couldn't have just told her all this in the first place.

The subject of obsession would of course have been a little difficult to discuss, but that can't have been the only reason. Is it just the amount of time and money this charade must have required?


	23. So Close

Liz looks confused and sad, her hands trembling, and for a second Red wishes he could have just continued kissing her, made love to her, and then sent her home, unsuspecting.

But he's not willing to use her, or allow her to use him.

She's not Mattie.

How has she brought them to this place, this bed, the sorrow gathering so thickly between them as they sit together in silence?

"Do you want me to go?"

Liz looks at him a little apprehensively, but with none of the fear he so often glimpses before Mattie gets her expressions under control.

"You have what you wanted," he responds quietly. Unwilling to speak those words, to send her away. 

She shakes her head.

"No, Red, no, I don't."

He bites at the inside of his mouth, trying to make sense of the way her lips are pressed together, the slight lean of her body forward, towards him.

"There's nothing else for you to know," Red informs her, trying not to think about the time and money wasted, the personal torments he's forced himself to endure. Sleeping beside Mattie, the feel of her hands clinging to his arm, the smell of the perfume Liz always wears lingering on his clothing even when they're apart.

He can't go on with the trip now, not after seeing and touching Liz like this. They came so close.


	24. Don't Stop

Liz puts her hand out, touches Red's leg through the sheet.

"I came in Mattie's place tonight because I wanted to."

Her words fall into the silence like stones falling from a vast cliff, soundlessly disappearing into space.

"I came for you."

She lets her gaze slide from his closed expression to his bare chest, the wet dark hair plastered to his chest where she licked him, punctuated by the glistening flesh of his small, sensitive nipples. Remembering the taste of him, the sounds he made as he threw his head back the first time her teeth clamped down, as her tongue moved faster. 

Cautiously, she rubs his leg through the sheet with her thumb, then her whole hand.

"What are you doing, Elizabeth?"

No feeling at all in his words. He barely sounds curious.

"Don't try to tell me you want Mattie more than me."

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Stares at her hand.

"Don't spoil this. Don't stop."

Red stares at her as if she's speaking a foreign language.

"Just give me tonight."

Liz feels as if she's pleading voicelessly, hearing no response from Red at all.

"Just tonight, please, Red. We don't have to talk about this ever again. We can forget it even happened."

There's something different in his eyes now, and she realizes he's been holding his breath.

And now he's breathing again.

"Yes?" she begs, daring to run her hand past his knee, then higher up his thigh.

"Yes."

He tilts his head a little, mouth twitching.

"Lie down, Lizzie. I'll just be a moment."


	25. How To Begin?

Red retreats to the bathroom and uses the toilet. He washes his face and hands in cold water, then stares at his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes are red-rimmed, his mouth full and swollen. 

He wants this, whatever it is she's offering him. And her silence afterward. Oh yes.

But he also wants to grab his clothing and flee into the night. 

Red returns to the bedroom to find Liz lying on her side, covered by the sheet. Watching the bathroom door.

Without words, she lifts the sheet in welcome. Red swallows hard, then crosses the room, lies down beside her on his side. So close their bodies are almost touching.

He doesn't know how to begin.

Liz decides for them both.

She raises one hand to his face, traces his features, then leans in for a kiss.

Her lips cling sweetly to his, then she begins to intersperse her kisses with words. The words he’s always longed to hear, like sand or salt rubbed deeper in his wounds. At least some of the words. Not all of them.

“I want you, Red.”

“I love your kisses.”

“You taste so good.”

“Oh, Red.”

“More, more.”

He kisses her back more forcefully, stopping the flow of her speech, rolls Liz onto her back and covers her body with his own.


	26. Once

The first shock is almost overwhelming, the way her body curves to welcome him, the expression on her face as she feels him begin to move inside her.

Red imagines he can see the words he hasn't heard her speak in her pleasure-clouded blue eyes, and controls himself as long as possible, pausing to tease her with his fingers until she bucks up against his weight.

He’s completely silent save for the harsh sound of his own breathing, his jaw aching from how hard he's clenching it, trying to hold himself back for her.

She’s no longer speaking, just making pleading sounds that he uses to gauge her responses, and he follows her immediately as she convulses beneath him. The pleasure racks him like pain, recedes in a rush that leaves him light-headed.

Such a close call, his self-control barely equal to the task.

Red moves off her body, draping one arm over her hips as Liz attempts to cling to him. Buries his face in his pillow, trying to get control of himself.

It’s been far too long. Red feels as if his entire personality is dissolving, and all he wants to do is weep himself to sleep. Why didn’t he just send her away?

How can she expect him to forget this?

Liz lies still for a moment, then slips from beneath his arm, presses her body against him, her face pillowed on his scarred back without hesitation, her legs tangled with his.

“Red.” Her voice sounds so possessive, and she’s touching him firmly, every available surface of her body warm against him, as if she needs the touch of his skin.

He blinks furiously and rolls to his side, pulling her face against his chest, holding her so tightly as she clutches back at him.

“Lizzie.”

He wants to tell her so many things. He can’t imagine she wants to hear any of them.


	27. Again

Liz holds Red tight for a long time, trying to figure out what went wrong. 

Other than lying her way into this bed, then back into his arms. She has no intention of forgetting this night. 

Liz can’t be positive with her face crushed against his chest, but Red seems unusually emotional. She presses kisses against his skin, holds him hard against her, as if the strength of her grip will offer some comfort.

At last his arms loosen, and she scoots up to look at his face.

Red is doing the worst impression of unconcerned she’s ever seen.

“When is Mattie returning?”

Liz blinks at him, looking closely at his deep-circled eyes. He smells like sorrow, and the corners of his mouth twitch beneath her scrutiny.

“We have until noon,” she responds, then leans close to nuzzle his cheek, flicking her tongue along his jaw line. “Let me know when you’re ready again.”

He swallows hard, the lines on his face deepening.

“Red, talk to me.”

He flinches, his nostrils flaring.

“Whatever is wrong, let me make it right.”

Red just stares at her, in that familiar blank way that means there’s something he won’t tell her. Liz sighs.

“The next time will be better,” she tells him, running her palm down his side and giving his hip a rub. “Whatever you want or need, just tell me. I want this to be as good for you as it is for me.”

His bleak expression doesn’t change but she feels him stir against her. 

Liz kisses his chin, then his neck, and continues kissing her way slowly down his body, pausing at the soft curve of his belly until he rolls onto his back, one hand idly stroking the back of her head.

He tastes like the two of them mixed together, long and beautifully shaped. She spends a long time silently praising him there, before she raises to her knees, then crawls between his thighs without lifting her mouth from the long slow motions that cause him to pulse and jump.

Taking him in both hands, she looks up, licks him deliberately as he watches her, then crawls forward on her hands and knees until her mouth hovers over his.

“You’re everything to me, Red,” she whispers. “Everything I could ever want.”


	28. Until Noon

He doesn’t know how to answer that, even how to begin, but he reaches for her face, pulls her down to kiss her as she lowers herself in an agonizingly slow slide that once again tests his self-control to the limits.

“Red, Red,” she whispers, moving at a pace that suggests she’s trying to memorize every inch of him, her kisses beyond sweet now, pressed all over his face and neck as her hands hold and stroke the sides and top of his head.

Telling him without words that she wants him, every part of him. That this isn’t just casual for her, any more than it is for him.

If only he can believe that. If it isn't just more self-delusion, like thinking he could hire Mattie and not over-react to her presence.

This can't possibly be punishment for hiring her double. The unbelievably tender way Liz is touching him and kissing him, even a professional like Mattie couldn't manage this.

They have until noon. 

He'll make the most of it.

Red doesn't need that much sleep, anyway.


	29. Coffee

"Coffee."

Liz opens one eye to see Red gazing down at her, holding out a mug.

It smells wonderful. Her favorite blend.

Of course. This is Mattie's apartment.

Liz blinks and sits up, takes the cup and sips as Red seats himself on the bedside.

He's wearing his dress shirt from the previous night, but nothing more.

She puts her hand on his thigh.

"You're not leaving yet, are you?" she asks.

"Oh, we have several hours until noon," he assures her, tilting his head a little, his eyes very intent on her face.

Liz doesn't try to hide her relief.

"Good." Sipping her coffee, she runs her nails lightly through the soft, light hair on his thigh, admiring the texture and color. Everything about Red seems impossibly appealing this morning, even the silvery stubble decorating his normally clean-shaven face.

"Insatiable this morning, are we?" Red comments, his voice a little deeper.

"I imagine you get that all the time," she responds, tracing his inner thigh with her fingertips until she reaches the bottom edge of his shirt.

He clears his throat, and she looks up to catch him visibly discomfited.

"Sorry - none of my business," she apologizes. "Immunity package, right?"

Red purses his lips, almost a kiss, then finishes his coffee.

"Do you want more?" he asks her, lifting the mug from her hand and setting it on the bedside table with his when she shakes her head.

"Later," Liz responds, raising her face for his kiss with a smile. "Come back to bed, Red."


	30. Morning Shower

Mattie's shower is really too small for them both, but when Liz invites him to join her, Red steps under the spray, a little hotter than he likes it, and obediently kneads shampoo into her hair.

They need to be dressed and gone in the next half an hour. 

Mattie's sheets are already in the washer, and Red will load their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher before they leave.

It's almost lunchtime. He's not hungry at all.

It feels odd to describe the past night in this ordinary apartment as an idyll, but Red is achingly aware of his small, hopefully imperceptible attempts to fix each moment in his mind.

The scent of her shampoo, the feel of his fingers buried in her hair, the soft moans she makes as he rubs hard little circles against her scalp.

"Oh, Red, you're spoiling me."

He wants to spoil her, wishes for a wild moment he could invite her to take Mattie's place on their upcoming trip.

But that would completely defeat the purpose of the whole exercise, to draw out his enemy without any risk to Liz.

He chuckles instead, rubbing the back of her slender neck with his thumbs.

"Just call me if you ever need your hair washed," he tells her. "I'll drop everything I'm doing, and rush right over."

Liz turns around, then steps past him to rinse her hair, the slide of their wet bodies reminding Red of the other possibilities of a shower. If they only had more time.

"I may wash my hair every evening," she responds, her eyes closed as she tips her head back to let the water cascade down her hair. Playing along, pretending these aren't their last few minutes together like this.

"I suppose I'll have to set specific daytime hours for crime, then," he retorts, reaching for the soap and beginning to lather himself with a twitch of his nose at the strong, feminine scent. 

He'll smell like Liz until he can get back to his latest safe house and shower again.

"Hey, no fair. Let me do that."

Liz takes the soap from his hand and gives him a wicked glance from beneath her eyelashes. 

The way she touches him, soft or rough, every time it somehow feels like love is pouring from her hands, as if his body is being remade beneath her touch. Whole and perfect and exactly to her taste.

He can't imagine what he's thinking is the truth. Red knows Liz is hiding something from him, but for now, he'll lean against the tiled wall of the bathroom and savor the intimate touch of her slippery hands as these last few minutes tick away. 

And pretend she'll call him to wash her hair some evening, instead of forgetting this ever happened.


	31. Mattie's Call

Mattie's number comes up on her phone just as Red's black Mercedes pulls away from the curb.

Liz shakes her head, still giggling inwardly at Dembe's reproachful glare, and turns to walk a few steps in the opposite direction before taking the call. Poor Dembe must have been outside at the curb for a long time.

"You didn't!" 

Mattie sounds excited. Liz laughs into the phone and hears, like an echo, an answering laugh. Does she really sound like that when she's happy?

She's so happy.

"Mattie, I owe you more than I can ever repay," Liz responds. "And don't worry about the trip. I don't think you need to worry about Red bothering you at all."

"Why not?" Mattie at once sounds suspicious.

She may sound young, but she's older than Liz is. Mattie won't give her true age, anymore than her real name or birthday, but Liz assumes they're at least five years apart.

"We agreed it was just one time. That we'd pretend it never happened."

"Why would he do that?" Mattie still sounds unhappy. "Why would I?"

Red will be more than furious if Liz spoils his elaborate plan. He's already agreed, under protest, not to confront Mattie about their deception.

Liz forces herself to shrug, allowing the momentary tension to drain out of her shoulders. Out of her voice. Another little trick, courtesy of Tom.

"That was the deal. You don't argue with him, do you?"

Silence for a moment.

"Did he say how soon we're leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

"What?!" Liz stares at the phone. Mattie never shrieks. Never.

"Lizzie, I need to get my nails done like yours, exactly like yours, and wash and then pack up my clothes ..."

Mattie sounds frantic.

"You're not leaving until tomorrow night," Liz reassures her. "I'll stop by first thing in the morning, and we can go to the nail salon together."

"Bring me a SAT phone," Mattie instructs her. "If this goes wrong, I want to be able to reach you."

"OK." Although what Mattie expects Liz will be able to do, halfway around the world, in countries where the FBI has no jurisdiction, she really doesn't know.


	32. The Attack

Red steps to the bedside and looks down at the pale face on the hospital pillow, heart-breakingly still.

"She'll recover," Dembe says behind him, softly. "And she'll forgive you, eventually."

Red shakes his head.

Mattie almost died. 

His enemy didn't just attack her, he abducted and tortured her.

Red's team managed to track him down, execute him, and recover Mattie, but it was a very close call.

Seeing the woman who looked like Liz in that condition, taking photographs of her, was almost more than Red could bear.

But his enemy's powerful friends couldn't complain once he showed them those images, or blame him for retaliating. The thought of their eyes on her naked, broken body makes him sick.

"Raymond."

Red pulls away from Dembe's gentle touch.

"Arrange for her care, and add a bonus to her final payment - find out what she wants. Perhaps a car."

He shakes his head again at the sound of Dembe clearing his throat.

"I don't ever want to see her again."

The attack came only two weeks into their trip. Thankfully, Red has some time before he needs to see the real Elizabeth Keen again, pick up the work of chasing blacklisters with her and pretending their night together never happened.

At least another two weeks.

He plans to spend them drunk.


	33. Another Call

An unfamiliar number.

Liz picks up the call, hears a faint buzz on the line.

"Lizzie."

It's Mattie, sounding weak and a little sleepy.

"Are you okay?"

The words are out of her mouth before she knows it. Liz looks around, clutching the phone to her ear, then hurries to her office and closes the door.

"No, but I will be." There's a pause. "Thanks for asking, Lizzie."

Another pause. Liz swallows hard against the bile rising in her throat. Whatever happened must have been bad.

"Is Red taking care of you?" she manages.

"That cold bastard was gone by the time I woke up."

Mattie no longer sounds like Liz, a faint accent creeping back into her voice once again.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," she says, a little helplessly.

"Don't be. I never want to see him again."

Liz waits, then ventures into the silence.

"Do you need anything? Anything I can do?"

"Buy me lunch, next time I'm in town."

From her tone, that might be quite a while. 

"Any restaurant you want," Liz responds. She licks her lips, wondering if she'll ever see or speak with Mattie again.

"Be safe," she manages, finally.

"You too." Another pause, but the buzz continues.

"We never did. Not even a kiss."

Liz almost gasps, but before she can say anything, the line goes dead.


	34. A Talk with Dembe

Raymond Reddington swaggers into the Post Office and begins presenting evidence on his latest blacklister. He looks tan and well-rested in a cream linen summer suit.

Dembe departs for the gym without a word to anyone, his face somber. 

Liz frowns as she watches him go. Dembe is visibly unhappy, and she can't help but worry that it has something to do with Mattie. But the SAT phone is dead, and she doesn't even know Mattie's last name.

While Red is conferring with Aram, she slips out and wends her way down to the basement gym.

Dembe is punching a speed bag. Liz circles until she's within his range of vision, then waits.

"Yes?" He's breathing a little heavily, not smiling at her as he usually does.

"Dembe, is Mattie OK?"

His face softens.

"Yes, Elizabeth, her recovery is well underway."

Liz tilts her head, wishing she knew how to ask her question in a way that won't offend the very private man standing in front of her. Finally, she just sighs inwardly and asks him.

"Dembe, you haven't smiled at me once since you got back. Have I done something to displease you?"

He shakes his head slowly, looking sad.

"No, Elizabeth."

That night. Is Dembe unhappy that she spent that night with Red? Or worse, does he know something that she doesn't, a reason she should be unhappy? Is he unhappy with Red? With something Red has done?

With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Liz steps close, looks around the empty gym. If she speaks softly, the cameras won't pick this up.

"Is there something I need to know? Something about Red?"

Dembe's face hardens again. Liz needs to make it clear this isn't about loyalty to Red, but rather, where his loyalty needs to lie now.

She doesn't know what Red has told him. The jet touched down this morning, and they came directly to the Post Office.

"Dembe, I promise I will be good to him."

Still no response. She needs to get back upstairs. But she can't just leave this for Red to handle. Not if the three of them are going to be spending as much time together as she hopes they will in the future.

"Tell me. Is it that we used Mattie's apartment? Because she was fine with that."

Dembe reaches out, his boxing gloves thudding against her upper arms as if he forgot he was wearing them.

"What are you saying, Elizabeth?" His dark eyes search her face.

"Red didn't tell you it was me?"

Her face flames with embarrassment. Why would Red let Dembe think she was Mattie?


	35. Come

Red glances at the elevator yet again. Liz has been gone far too long. Did she leave the Post Office? She barely smiled at him when he arrived, looking rather harried and preoccupied. Not that he expected her to throw her arms around him, or kiss him. But even a hint of warmth would have been nice.

At last Dembe emerges, showered and dressed, ushering Liz to proceed him, then falling into step behind her instead of waiting by elevator.

Walking behind her in the exact same position he uses when he follows Red.

"Let's go out for lunch."

Liz fixes Red with her intense blue stare, makes a little gesture with one hand when he hesitates.

Come.

She's not asking him. She's ordering him to come with her.

"It appears that duty calls," Red remarks in a genial tone, tipping his hat to Aram and Samar, then giving Ressler a wider smile as he glares at his partner's back. 

Liz is already halfway back to the elevator, Dembe in tow behind her. She clearly wants Red out of the Post Office, away from the eyes and ears of her colleagues. His heart starts beating faster, even though he tells himself sternly that it's foolish to hope she's changed her mind. She probably has questions about Mattie, or their trip.

His mind shies away once more from those images of Mattie. That could so easily have been Liz.

Red strolls after them, but he strolls quickly.


	36. Finally Alone

Dembe holds the back door to the sedan for them both, closes it, then leans against the car instead of entering the driver's seat.

Liz turns to Red as soon as he is seated beside her, his mouth turned down and his eyes wary. Hands rubbing at his knees before stilling.

"Why didn't you tell Dembe you spent the night with me, not with Mattie?" she asks him.

A twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only response.

Liz reaches over and sets her left hand on his right.

"You worried him, Red."

"Dembe doesn't need your protection, Lizzie."

His tone is dry, but she can tell he's furious. Or something else, some deep emotion barely held in check.

Every time she thinks she's getting to know him, there's something new. His mind is labyrinthine, strategy and power games second nature in a way they will never be for her.

She stabs in the dark, trying to reach him.

"Red, I want his support. Don't you?"

"Support for what?!"

Now Red is glaring at her, the bitter lines around his mouth aging him, his eyes narrowed to mere slits beneath the shadow of his fedora.

Liz stares at him, trying to make sense of what he's saying.

They haven't seen each other or spoken for more than a month, until his briefing upstairs.

They're finally alone. Liz assumed that Red would smile at her or tease her, respond to her in some way.

Despite their agreement, she didn't expect him to act as if absolutely nothing happened between them. He was so jaunty in the Post Office. 

His hand is stiff on his knee beneath hers.

She can go back upstairs and try to figure this out; she can't imagine trying to sit opposite him in a public restaurant right now.

Liz raps on the glass, and lowers her window as Dembe turns and leans down.


	37. What's Wrong?

"Take us wherever you're staying."

"Lizzie."

There's a warning note in Red's voice, but he doesn't protest further as Dembe gets back in the car and starts driving.

Liz stares forward, her hand still resting on Red's hand.

They're going to hash this out, and then she can cry if she needs to, repair her make-up before she returns to work.

She doesn't need lunch. She's not hungry at all at this point. Liz glances over at Red, but he's looking out his window.

They enter the hotel garage through an unmarked keyless entry, park, then ride up and up in a small elevator.

The suite is huge, with the panoramic views only available from a penthouse.

Red tosses his hat on a marble topped table, shrugs out of his coat. Dembe looks from one to the other, retreats into one of the bedrooms at a gesture from Liz.

Red watches him go, his mouth moving unhappily.

"Well? Lizzie?"

She takes off her coat, lays it over his.

"I lied," she tells him, kicking off her heels. He's standing by the bar, pouring them both a drink.

As if she needs a drink right now. 

He takes a quick swig before turning, finishing half the glass.

"About what, Lizzie?" he asks her, holding out the other glass even after she shakes her head.

Liz scowls but accepts it, takes the smallest of sips.

"About forgetting. About pretending it never happened."

Red tilts his head, waiting without expression, but there's something hopeless in the back of his eyes. As if he expects her to say something terrible, then walk out the door. Or perhaps its what he's planning to say to her?

Liz steps close to him, reaches out to lay her free hand very lightly against the side of his face.

"I want you, Red. Please tell me what's wrong."


	38. This Way

Red stares down at her, trying to believe that she just spoke those words.

For a second, he sees Mattie's bruised and bloody face, then the concern in the voice of the woman touching him. Lizzie, not Mattie. Lizzie. Her voice draws him back.

"Red? Red?"

Her hand is still touching his face. Her clean white hand, no broken fingers, no torn nails.

"Say that again," he says, stepping back, away from her touch, and finishing the last of his scotch.

Her jaw goes stubborn and she scowls again.

"I want you, Red."

She said it again. He reaches for the bar to steady himself.

Liz steps forward, sets down her all but untasted glass, and puts her arms around his waist.

"Whatever happened, we're going to be OK," she says, laying her head on his chest and then finally, finally, pressing the length of her body against him. "I'm going to make it OK."

So warm. So alive, unharmed. And she wants him. That has to be enough.

Closing his eyes, Red wraps his arms around her in return, presses a kiss into her clean, soft hair.

"Lizzie."

He holds her for a long time, just breathing in the scent of her, focusing on the feel of her. Pushing away any images of Mattie that arise.

"So, do you have a bedroom somewhere here?" Liz says finally, nuzzling his chest through the layers of his vest and shirt.

Red drapes one arm around her waist and scoops up her glass with the other, drains it in one swallow.

"This way," he says hoarsely, and steers her towards his room.


	39. Sleep

Red sleeps briefly after they finish, the collapse of a man worn past exhaustion.

Liz lies beside him, watching him sleep, their bodies curved towards each other, not quite touching, but close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from him beneath the covers.

The small puffs of air from his pursed lips, the lax skin of his face and neck, the fine lines etched deeper than is usually visible, given his near-constant animation.

She thought she wanted him, but that's not what she's feeling now. Not only that.

There's an immense tenderness when she looks at him, akin to her urge to protect him, but vaster, all encompassing.

Liz wants to reshape the world until Red wakes only to joy. To safety and freedom and pride.

She doesn't know how to create that world. Who or what she may need to become in order to succeed.

But she's committed to trying. To being his second chance.

If there's one thing she's learned from Mattie, it's how closely Red watches her. How he focuses on the minute details.

So that's where she'll start. If she can become someone who could, if she chose to, create a successful impersonation of Raymond Reddington, then she'll be well on her way to understanding what will make him happy.

Liz smiles and inclines her head on the king-sized pillow they share to sniff at his breath once more. She knows the brand of scotch, but she needs to learn more about cigars.

His eyelashes flutter, impossibly thick.

Let him sleep. She'll still be here when he wakes.


End file.
